


Everybody Dies

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Palace, Mind!Jim, Poisoning, Slow Death, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everybody <i>dies</i>, Sherlock…" Jim whispers as he lays beside him, "That's what people <i>do</i>, after all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Dies

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #43: Dying
> 
> I'm... I'm really sorry in advance. I just finished watching _House_ and I was really unhappy with the ending and I needing to escape the depressing feels somehow...
> 
> But really, with a prompt like "Dying," what was I supposed to do?

The lights are flickering as Sherlock dashes down the stairs. As he reaches the door, he realizes he's probably beyond help, collapsing through the heavy-set entryway. 

"Long. Time. No. _See_." The man kneeling in the corner rasps, punctuating each word with violent rocking back-and-forth, hitting his forehead softly against the padded walls. 

"I… I can explain." Sherlock simpers, losing air as it gradually gets harder to breathe.

"No need." Moriarty sighs, turning to face the downtrodden detective, "I always knew you'd be back."

"Hopefully not for _this_ situation…"

"Yes, actually." He begins to squirm a bit closer, arms still latched to his back with the grubby straight jacket, "For _exactly_ this situation."

"No, that's — " Sherlock's knees buckle under him, barely catching himself on his hands as he plummets to the floor.

"You only realize how much you need me when you're _desperate_." 

"Then you know what I'm going to ask." He decides to stay on the ground; it was less stress on his ailing form.

"I was afraid of that…" Moriarty grimaces as Sherlock flattens out.

"Please don't say that, Jim…" But Sherlock knows the answer, "There has to be _something_ I haven't thought of." 

"I'm sorry… but I can't help you." The bound man mutters, "You already knew that." 

Sherlock swallows, hearing his last hope's confirmation allows him the beginnings of acceptance, "I'm going to die."

"Everybody _dies_ , Sherlock…" Jim whispers as he lays beside him, "That's what people _do_ , after all." Now that the harsh truth has been laid out, the only thing left was for the recesses of Sherlock's mind to comfort him as the rest of his body shut down. 

"Do you think we should move somewhere less… _bleak_?" Jim's lips brush against Sherlock's ear, "Somewhere sentimental?"

"You just want to be unchained." Sherlock coughs, wheezing slightly.

"Well, we're already facing oblivion… how much damage could I _really_ do in your last minutes?" 

"Fair point." Sherlock closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're on the roof of St. Bart's, basking in the sunlight. Jim looking exactly as he did that day: clean, fancy suit, free, blood trickling from his head…  

"Was the head wound really necessary to recreate?" Still curled around him, Jim kisses him as Sherlock begins to feel the paralysis.

"Yes… this is how it should be. How I will remember you."

"Mmm. I guess you didn't want to feel alone…" Jim ponders, "Well. You'll never be alone again."

"Because you're here."

"Yes." Jim smirks, "Do you want to talk about what happened?" 

"What's _happening_ …" Sherlock coughs again, weak this time, "Nothing special. Stupid mistake…"

"Feels like poison." Jim licks his lips, "Definitely poison."

"I don't know how it got into my system, but it was a damn good plot."

"Because you're just going to fade away." Jim picks up his thoughts, "It paralyzed you. Then knocked you out, so you couldn't call for help. Your lungs will just… slowly shut down. It won't look like foul play at first, but once your brother gets ahold of the body — "

"Can we change the subject?" Heat begins to pool in Sherlock's face, the last bit of warmth he can gather, "Last thoughts and all."

"I understand… but you can't top what I got."

"How so?"

"Well… my last moments, I got to touch you. Hold your hand. Look you in the eye…" Jim lowers his voice, as if passing a closely guarded secret, "Take your pulse." 

"You died with perfect clarity." Dizziness sets in, but thankfully the detective is laying down, "You finally confirmed that the man you loved, loved you back."

"Yet it couldn't fix my despair…" Jim frowns, "We could've run away together. We could both still be alive. It's really too bad, Sherlock."

"It's really too late to speculate on any of that."

"Yes, but you want to imagine it anyway…" Jim smiles again, "Go ahead, I won't tell anyone." 

For a moment, Sherlock allows himself a glimmer of wishful thinking: stopping Jim's hand, preventing him from raising the gun. Kissing him into distraction, and confiscating the weapon so that they could have a real conversation, free of any stupid riddles or implications. Because the final problem wasn't _living_ , it was the repulsive idea of living _without_ one another. Then faking both of their suicides… and running off together. Sherlock didn't even care if he had to turn to the criminal arts — good and evil were meaningless concepts anyway. 

All that mattered — _could've mattered_ — was spending the rest of his days trying to figure out the most brilliant of enigmas the world had ever seen: James Moriarty. 

A perfect vision of a future that could've been, "It's beautiful, Sherly." Jim murmurs.

Despite the radiant star in the sky, everything is cold, "Not long now, my love." And Sherlock knows it's true. There was no magical answer this time, no force of will that would rescue him. 

"Goodbye… Jim." He thinks he says it out loud, outside his cage. It might be true, it might not. But he doesn't know if anyone was around to hear his final words. 

"Don't worry." Jim strokes the side of his face, so lightly Sherlock feels the exact point where his mind is creating the illusion of touch, "I'll see you soon."

The sun goes out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to those of you who are still with me on my prompt-ventures :) And to those of you just tuning in. You're all awesome <3


End file.
